DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Walking Dead or any of it's characters. Robert Kirkman and Co. does. I do not make any type of profit from writing this fan-fiction. This is strictly for my and my readers' pleasure
CLAIMER: I own Arlen and his family. Pronounced (Are-Lin)
RATED: R and is subject to change.
WARNING:This is going to be an YAOI/MALE+MALE story.
BETA READER: None; so there will be mistakes that I miss.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The scenarios involved in this fan-fiction are fictional. The main character may also strike readers as a Mary/Gary Sue. If this fact bothers you, turn back now. Construction criticism is welcomed. No flames. This story is also being posted on my Mibba account.
"Speaking"
'Thinking'
"Cell Phone/Radio Speaking"
~CHAPTER ONE~
"You're quieter than usual. Did you tell your parents?" A voice sounded from the wireless ear piece connecting to the ravenette's cell phone.
Arlen took a moment to finish taking inventory of his medical supplies before answering the person on the other line.
"I told them vague amounts of information…and your last name." Arlen replied quietly as to not disturb the others working in the army green tent set up outside of Atlanta's CDC.
Apparently the riots that were happing around the major cities of the United States were not the only thing the military was there for. Arlen's position had him working closely with sick individuals and updating the CDC on new symptoms, while they tried to make heads or tails about the new virus that was attempting to make a name for itself.
"I knew your brother was up to something when he called me." The voice chuckled lightly, finding the situation amusing.
Arlen, however, was not amused.
"Brett called you? When?" He questioned, straightening up from his crouched position.
"Oops, I wasn't supposed to…*sigh* He found my number in your cell the day you got back. I had no idea you have me listed under Tootsie Roll. It makes me wonder if you have any other creative names listed in you contacts," The voice stated; tone curious if not a little worried.
"You're listed under that name, because I was eating Tootsie Rolls when we met and your brown eyes remind me of melted chocolate," Arlen told them, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards.
Another sigh was heard, one of relief.
"You're in the city, but we still haven't been able to make time to meet up. Are things serious where you are at the CDC? I saw on the news that sick people are flooding the city hospitals."
"We haven't been able to determine what type of viral strain we are dealing with, but that is more along the line of the CDC's specialty. I want you to steer clear of any sick individual and go straight home after work." Arlen said, hiding the concern he felt.
"I will, but Arlen…be honest with me okay. How bad is it?"
The medic took a second to glance around the tent. Everyone was beginning to file outside to meet with their assigned squads for the day. Arlen moved to join them, strapping his med-kit to his pack.
"Bad enough. I have to go. Stay safe."
"You too."
~oOo~
It was routine for there to be a field medic in every squad of fifteen. It was even more of a routine for the squads to travel throughout the city in search of riots to break up and to maintain order. Today, Arlen found out, was anything but routine.
BANG! POP! POP! CRASH!
"Protect the civilians! Murphy, push back!" The squad leader of the group Arlen was assigned to was shouting over the cracks of gun fire.
Arlen tightened the bandage around one of the soldier's forearms where he was bitten moments ago. The squad happened to be checking the south side of the city when they had come across a small group of people attacking someone in broad daylight. The soldier Arlen was tending to had been caught off guard when one of the attackers's bit him. Sad to say, that person had been gunned down by a nervous trigger finger.
"What the hell is wrong with these people?!" One soldier shouted after the gun fire ceased.
Arlen's brows furrowed as he looked down at one of the dead civilians that had attacked them. The blood seeping from the gunshot wounds was clotted and already a dark color.
"This is impossible," Arlen murmured under his breath, dipping the tip of his black tactical blade in the blood and brought it eye level.
"What's impossible?" The squad leader asked, crouching down beside the medic.
Arlen's smoky gray eyes met the other man's.
"This blood is showing evidence of clotting amounted to one being dead for days." Arlen voiced, still not sure whether to believe what was right in front of him or not.
A scoff was heard from behind the two men.
"So what are you saying? That these people were dead and walking?" A snide remark was made.
Arlen stood up and faced the one who spoke.
"I'm saying that whatever made these people sick was killing them from the inside out. It must have driven them crazy or something. I won't know more until we get back to the CDC and alert them," Arlen stated, his gaze hard and face grim.
The soldier Arlen had patched up earlier coughed before spitting a wad of blood out on the road. The soldiers around the man shifted nervously, taking cautious steps away. Arlen frowned, remembering the bite on the man's forearm.
"Barns, you feeling okay?" Arlen questioned, taking his pocket light from the front of his coat and shining it in the man's eyes for a split second.
The man's pupils were dilated, but were not contracting to the light like they were supposed to.
"Ye-yeah, I'm fine. It's just a bite. I'll have it looked at when we get back."
Arlen nodded.
"See to it that you do."
In a matter of an hour of returning to the temporary base outside of the CDC, chaos had erupted and riots had finally reached the smaller towns throughout the States. To Arlen, listening to the gun fire sounding outside the tent was like a replay of his time overseas.
~oOo~
Dressed in his tactical gear of a black short sleeve shirt, black cargo pants with multiple pockets, black combat boots and his black army hat; Arlen strapped on his shoulder holster for his .22 glock and his two thigh holsters for his .9mms. He hooked his black tactical serrated blade to the side of his belt before slipping his protective goggles on. His two medical kits were inside his black backpack along with a pair of binoculars and an extra pocket light. His other light was clipped opposite of his folding knife on his belt. Strapped to his hip was a sheathed pair of dual machete length blades.
It had been a week since Atlanta was overrun with infected people. On the third day, Arlen and two other field medics and three guards were rushed out of the city on an emergency courier mission to obtain an experimental drug from a nearby base that had taken precautionary measures and isolated itself from infection. Arlen and the other two medics dressed similarly to him, raced through the base's stark white corridors, splitting up with an appointed guard as they searched for the drug. A single beep sounded from Arlen's watch, his eyes glancing down to see that they had less than twenty minutes to find the drug and get a good distance away from the base before the aerial assault began to rain down.
"Arlen, Harper, this is Wesley. I found the drug, but the samples are all busted up. There's no way we're leaving here with the package. I repeat. The package is a no go," One of the medics said from Arlen's ear piece.
The ravenette's jaw clenched as he motioned for the guard to follow him out of the room they were searching.
"Rendezvous outside in five minutes. Abort mission," Arlen ordered; body tense as he and the guard ran through the building towards the exit.
The building shook as jets flew overhead. Arlen knew that the last one would be the one to drop a bomb on the building he and his team were currently in. The aerial team was early.
"GET OUT NOW!" Arlen shouted through him com-link, he and the guard he was with picked up their pace.
Arlen could hear the shouting of the other four men as they were making their way towards the only exit of the building. A figure stumbled out into the corridor in the path of Arlen and the guard. The bloodstained figure was joined by others, attracted by the sound the men were making. The guard began shooting as Arlen pulled his .22 glock from his shoulder holster and began to shoot down the infected people closing in on the two.
"Aim for the head." Arlen hissed at the guard whose rounds struck the infected in their chest.
More and more infected continued to pour into the building, giving Arlen and the guard no choice but to fight their way through. Shots fired from behind the two, the other four joining the fray. A piercing noise resonated in the air, the sound familiar with a dropped missile.